The New Dan Ashcroft
by Concupiscence66
Summary: A follow up to "A Beautiful Disaster". Dan Ashcroft doesn't hate his job and has an amazing boyfriend-type-person in Jones. He has a fully grown daughter who doesn't need anything, and he hardly ever has to see Nathan Barley. Could life get any better? Probably not. Could it get worse? Always.
1. Approaching Content

Approaching Content

It was a bad time to be a magazine, even an ultra-trendy one that was not only aimed at the Shoreditch crowd, but actually created in Shoreditch. The Sugar Ape offices were full of beautiful people in beautiful clothes and anyone who was anyone attended a Sugar Ape party. The problem was those fuckers were then going home and Googling the articles about themselves instead of buying the glossy pages.

When asked, Jonatton Yeah? would say he didn't miss Dan Ashcroft. He'd say he hired a tramp to sit at Dan's old desk, smelling bad and drinking while other people wrote his articles - in other words, being Dan Ashcroft.

He'd said it to Dan's face while they were both off their tits at a press dinner. Dan called him a cunt and kissed him on the mouth while cameras clicked away. Ned Smanks got a particularly good shot that ran in E-lite magazine with the caption, "No hard feelings."

xxx

Kevin Alexander was straight out of Cambridge, where his Buddy Holly glasses and bowling shoes had surely identified him as an edgy character: someone capable of telling his father he didn't believe in God, or even of using _the drugs_. His hair was carefully unkempt, and his handsome face was unlined. He was young, idealistic and photogenic.

Jonatton Yeah? drained his glass of Scotch. Kevin took another sip, unable to hide his grimace.

"So... Sugar Ape?"

Kevin looked confused, "Um, yes?"

"Why?"

"Oh, because..." Jonatton could see Kevin mentally regain his footing, "This is the only magazine that is still really reaching an audience. Everyone else is so niche, they're just preaching to their own choir. Sugar Ape is still taking risks, pushing boundaries..."

"Last months we did a special edition, raising awareness of breast health," Jonatton agreed, "Well informative."

Kevin cleared his throat, "Yes, yes. That's the perfect example. The promise of titillation in the form of..."

"Tits."

"Yes, well, it brought in readers with the promise of naughtiness. It's the only way to reach the masses these days," Kevin continued in an earnest tone.

"Showing tits is always a good way to reach the masses," Jonatton agreed. There had been pages and pages of bare breasts. It was a celebration of the mammary gland.

"Some might accuse Sugar Ape of using exploitation..."

Jonatton gasped, "They wouldn't?"

Kevin shifted nervously in his seat, clearly unsure how to proceed.

"Kevin, are you familiar with Dan Ashcroft?" Jonatton asked, glancing at his iPhone. It was shit for calls, but his pictures looked amazing.

Kevin's eyes darted back and forth, like he was literally racking his brain for the answer.

"Ashcroft... The Rise of the Idiots," Kevin announced, full of pride at having the correct answer. He seemed to think he was on a quiz show rather than a job interview.

"What did you think of it?" Jonatton asked, still looking at his iPhone. He wasn't giving the little twat a hint what he was supposed to think.

"If I can be totally honest," Kevin said, winding himself up for a proper speech, "It's a bit self-indulgent. Hipster scene king decrying his followers..."

"Congratulations, Kevin Alexander," Jonatton cried, "You are our new idiot king! Now, be a lamb and close the door when you leave."

xxx

Silence was like a bucket of cold water hitting Dan in the face, jerking him from a warm if not quite fuzzy dream. For most of his adult life, Dan had relied on Jones' blaring music to lull him to sleep. Now that they tried to spend at least a few hours a night in bed together, they had both been forced to re-learn how to fall asleep instead of simply blacking out. Jones had a high profile gig coming up at The Place and had been up late every night, working on his new mixes. His latest fascination was something called brostep. As far as Dan could tell, the purpose of brostep was to make the listener wet himself with fear. The grinding, metallic screeching had been seeping into Dan's dreams (turning them into nightmares), but the sudden silence was worse. Dan was still trying to get his bearings when Jones slid into bed beside him.

"All right, Dan?" Jones mumbled, slapping a quick kiss on Dan's cheek.

"You must be exhausted," Dan hinted, running his hand along Jones' bare hip. Since Claire had moved out, the flat again became clothing optional. Jones opted not to wear anything to bed, and very little any other time. Dan was rather fond of the development, and not just because it saved on the laundry.

They'd been together for nearly two years. That was nearly two years longer than any of Dan's previous relationships had lasted. People sometimes asked Dan what his secret was, and they mistakenly thought he was being romantic when he said, "Jones".

Jones was truly the secret to Dan's relative stability in life. He was eternally optimistic and patient as Dan tried to adapt to the world of monogamy and caring about his career. He supported Dan through two efforts to give up booze and three tries at giving up cigarettes. He'd suffered the irritability with endless tolerance, and when Dan inevitably failed, Jones was there to say, "Didn't work out this time, Dan. Not succeeding ain't the same as failing."

Dan certainly didn't consider his failure to ruin his first real relationship a success. He was more inclined to think he hadn't finished fucking up their relationship_ yet_. Life (and self-destruction) was a process.

Jones wriggled closer to Dan with a sleepy sigh, "Mmmm. Nearly finished, though."

Dan kissed Jones' neck, "It's terrifying. I'm sure it will be a big hit."

Jones laughed, "You can't handle anything with more than three chords."

"How many chords are in the sound of a bicycle being run over by a tank?"

"Least four."

Dan laughed into Jones' hair and held him close, pressing his half-mongrel against Jones' bottom.

"Christ, you're a horny bastard," Jones laughed, before turning around in Dan's arms for a kiss.

"It's the post-dubstep, it does my head in," Dan teased, "It makes me feel excited to still be alive."

"Excited to have a warm body in your bed. You'd spoon Nathan Barley..."

"We agreed not to use that word in the bedroom."

"Sorry, Sir Dick Cheese."

"That's better, but there's still no need for bringing him up in bed. This is supposed to be a safe place."

Dan rolled Jones' onto his back, settling in between his thighs. He was certain he would never tire of sex with Jones. His partner was eternally enthusiastic and adventurous. Dan sometimes worried he didn't have enough to offer for a long-term sexual relationship. He had a skill set (Jones had created a two hour mix devoted to Dan's blow jobs call DA'sBJs), but he had more enthusiasm than skill. Worshipping Jones like an alabaster god was easy, but he had no skill for romance or pillow talk or creating a fantasy. He just got off on getting Jones off.

"Just grab the slippery stuff, I know what you want," Jones teased before adding in a stage whisper, "At four in the morning. God help the neighbors..."

"As if our neighbors can hear anything but the ringing in their own ears."

Jones looked thoughtful, "I can get pretty loud... You might have to hold back a bit."

"Not likely," Dan growled. It sounded better in his head than out loud (sexy rather than lame) but Jones looked pleased. One of Jones' many qualities was his ability to not be irritated by everything Dan did and said. It was the quality that earned him the title of "Dan's first long term partner". It was a dubious honor, but Jones rarely complained.

Normally, Dan liked to take care of everything when he topped Jones. It was part of proving Dan had something to bring to the table, but he did need to be at work in a few hours, so he let Jones stretch himself with his usual lack of shame. There was nothing that didn't make Dan feel vaguely uncomfortable, but Jones was his complete opposite. Whatever he was doing, Jones was always doing it with his whole body and soul.

Inside Jones, Dan could almost forget that he was supposed to do a television interview in six hours and he was the worst public speaker he knew. Ned Smanks looked eloquent next to Dan Ashcroft in front of a crowd.

He could almost forget he had five voicemails from Lenore. Dan spoke to his daughter every week, during his Thursday lunch, through Skype. That was terrific. That was a great way to get to know the adult daughter you've known for less than three years. It wasn't the idea of speaking to Lenore that filled him with anxiety, it was the fact she wanted to talk to him on a day other than Thursday. There was never a good reason for a person to break from their usual pattern. Change was almost invariably bad.

Making Jones arch his back and yell out his name was nearly enough to let Dan forget he was supposed to sit down with Claire and Nath... Sir Dick Cheese so he could write an article about their new social networking website. Breakthrough.

The sight of Jones with his fringe clinging to his sweaty forehead could make Dan forget everything that was troubling him, but then he would end up coming too soon, so he thought about terrible things as he did everything in his power to make Jones forget his own name.

They couldn't be bothered to clean themselves off. Dan was going to have to take a shower in the morning anyway. What harm would a little semen and lube do other than gluing their bodies together as they slept?

Then Dan would have an excuse to bring Jones everywhere he went.

Jones pulled Dan's head to his chest, so he could hear his partner's pounding heart. The sound had it's usual effect, making Dan immediately drowsy. He closed his heavy eyelids and gave in to the comfort of his wet and sticky bed. Before he drifted off, he heard Jones muse, "You're like a fucking puppy with a clock. I love it."

xxx

Sasha had a top of the line make-up kit, paid for by E-lite, specifically created to make Dan Ashcroft look healthy and well rested. Sasha had done some modeling and make-up work in her time, so she knew a few tricks. She had needed them all in the past two years, and she'd had to Google a few more.

She never knew what to expect when Dan rolled in. She hoped for the best but prepared for the worst.

Dan's eyes were puffy and red, and his hair was standing on end, but he'd shaved and his clothes were neat and clean (and buttoned properly).

Dan awkwardly returned her smile. Before becoming his personal assistant, Sasha had worked with Dan for years at Sugar Ape. They were friends, colleagues and former lovers, and yet Dan always acted as thought they'd just met. Wasting her life working the phones at Sugar Ape, Sasha would sometimes fantasize about being with Dan. He was the self-destructive, hard-drinking writer with intimacy issues she'd been dreaming of (but too practical to actually pursue) for her whole life. He would stagger in, hung over and wearing the same clothes he'd worn the day before, and Sasha would internally swoon. With his wild curls and sad eyes, Dan Ashcroft was sexy bag of mess, but Sasha had two children at home. She couldn't waste her time on a manchild.

Sometimes, she would imagine cleaning him up and helping him realize his potential, but whenever she actually tried, Dan fell apart at the seams. Sasha wasn't strong enough to hold Dan together. Now, Dan had Mars telling him what to do and when, Sasha making sure he was where he was supposed to be and roughly on time, his sister to bully and badger him into taking chances and his daughter's bankbook to make sure he didn't end up homeless. They say that behind every great man was a great woman, but Dan Ashcroft needed at least four women to prop him up. He wasn't quite _great_, but he was (to quote the many followers of his entirely Sasha-run Twitter accout) fucking cool as shit.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she pulled some tepid water and a variety of painkillers and anti-inflammatories from her emergency bag. He didn't even flinch when she rubbed hemorrhoid cream under his eyes. In the early days, Dan fought every effort to make him look presentable, but he had mellowed after being constantly exposed to images of himself. Dan was far from vain, but no likes to see themselves looking bloated and tired on the telly. He drew the line at make-up, but fortunately, he knew nothing about make-up. Sasha had plenty of tinted creams and ointments that evened out Dan's skin tone. He even fell for the, "It isn't make-up, it's mineral powder. It's like rubbing vitamins into your skin," line.

Dan closed his eyes and allowed Sasha to do her thing. His skin felt surprisingly healthy. The electric cigarette and the decrease in drinking were helping. His body was no longer chock full of toxins. He still drank and smoked too much, just not like he was actually trying to kill himself on a daily basis. Maybe it was the daughter, maybe it was the boyfriend. It might even have been the fact he no longer hated his job. Dan wasn't geared towards happiness, but he was approaching content.

"How are you feeling?" she asked again, after he had a few pills in him.

Dan grimaced.

"Don't let him bring up Claire. You are not your sister's keeper and it's insulting to try and use an author of your caliber for cheap sensationalism."

"What if he wants to talk about me pulling off a builder for an article or the fact there's a photo of me taking a piss hanging on Madonna's wall..."

"You are a respected author, and those are the scandalous stories of your youth."

"The pissing pic is only about two years old..."

"YOU ARE A RESPECTED AUTHOR! Stick with that script and you'll be fine."

Dan suddenly looked like a lost little boy. "Will I? Be fine, that is?"

Sasha had no idea, so she gave him a quick hug. He was stiff and oddly bulky in her arms, but there was a hint of a smile on his face when she let go.

"I'll try not to let you down," he said, "After all, there's a first time for everything."

Sasha could have pointed out the many times Dan had not let her down, but most of those occasions had occurred between the sheets. Or on top of a desk. Or in a deserted stairwell.

Once in a car park, in Jonatton Yeah's car.

So much of their sex life had revolved around their mutual hatred of Jonatton. It had all fallen apart for Sasha when Jonatton caught Dan going down on Sasha on his desk, and clearly enjoyed it. Even if Dan hadn't suddenly gone gay for his flat mate, it would still have been over for Sasha. Dan couldn't be a serious romantic partner, and it was hard to get off on Dan being a bad boy when she knew Jonatton was somewhere having a wank for the same reason.

She was better of with her fiancé, Thomas. He was a wonderful man and Sasha and her kids loved him dearly. They were planning their wedding for the fall and Sasha was completely content.

Except for once in a while, when she thought about all the wonderful bad boys who had caused her nothing but trouble all her life. The bad ones were always so much easier to remember than the nice guys.


	2. Dikipedia and the Fucktards

Dickipedia and the Fucktards

"Thanks for joining us, Mr. Ashcroft. May I call you Dan?"

"Sure."

He was off to a rousing start. Dan had never gotten the hang of interviews. The presenter, Michael Something-Smith had already sat down with Dan and had been calling him by his given name for an hour. Why did he suddenly have to pretend he wasn't sure it was acceptable? Why did there have to be so much pretense in life and especially on the telly?

"Now, Dan, here at 'Live in Shoreditch', we've been fans of yours for years. Your work at Sugar Ape really got people reading again. When it seemed like the written word was truly dead, you made it cool to actually look at the articles."

It was not a question, and yet Michael was pausing as though Dan were meant to speak.

"Really?" was the best Dan could think of. He'd written a few good articles at Sugar Ape, but most of them were rubbish.

Michael laughed too hard and too long, "Oh, Dan Ashcroft. Don't you ever change. Now let's get serious if we can. Your article 'Rise of the Idiots' really touched a lot of people. It became something of a call to sanity in the cooler parts of Shoreditch and even parts of Camden, but it wasn't until your sister's stunning documentary, 'Down in Londontown' was released that your work earned an international audience."

Again, it was not a question, just a random pause. Dan vaguely remembered when 'Live in Shoreditch' had actually been filmed live. It seemed like the host should have had time to learn that part of interviewing someone was asking questions.

"I suppose so. She's a good sister, that way."

He'd rehearsed that bit with Sasha, the part where he pretended to be a good and appreciative brother. He loved Claire about as much as he was capable of loving anyone, but he was and always would be a shit brother. He was glad her film was successful, but he still wasn't keen on his work being attached to something so earnest as to celebrate a junkie choir. For a small, independent British film, it had been a huge success oversees. Dan got fan letters from irony-impaired hipsters all over the world, cheering on his derision of the idiots.

"I'd say! There are 'Rise of the Idiot' tee-shirts and some kind of game..."

"Idiot Punch," Dan supplied. It was the only part of the whole 'Down in Londontown' fervor that he enjoyed, "I have it on my phone, it's a pretty good game. It was created by Jay Pingu. He went on to make that game that drives people insane."

"Cosmos of Conflict," Michael said without missing a beat, "I'm sure my viewers remember when that game came out! I don't think I showered for weeks. Idiot Punch isn't quite that addicting, but it's a damn good game for a phone. I wore out a few keys playing it."

"So did I," Dan admitted. The game had a slight story, but to anyone who knew Pingu, it was a game about Pingu punching Nathan Barley in the balls at every opportunity. Nathan Barley, of course, loved it and it was his efforts to promote the game that helped make it such a success. Pingu had moved on to bigger and better things, but he still couldn't shake off his 'friendship' with Nathan Barley. It was strange, in a way, to see another side of Barley. Dan had always assumed Pingu was just someone that Nathan exploited - and that was true - but in a weird way, Dan was pretty sure they were actually friends. Nathan was still trying to bleed Pingu dry and get his fingers into everything he created, but was also Pingu's biggest fan.

"Of course, your sister has been drawing some negative press lately..."

Dan snorted, "No, Nathan fucking Barley is drawing negative press. My sister is just getting hit with crossfire."

Michael's eyes narrowed, and he suddenly looked like a proper reporter, "Well, some say that she is disingenuous in presenting herself as a feminist while making her money on pornography..."

"That's bullshit," Dan sneered, "Claire isn't presenting herself as anything. She's a successful woman who isn't getting by on her looks. That's not a political statement."

Dan was surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth, and in the right order. Sasha's role play coaching had actually worked. If only he could practice for everyday conversation.

Michael looked taken aback, but collected himself, "But the fact remains her projects have been funded by some rather unsavory..."

"Fuck off," Dan snapped. It wasn't a question, but he left a pause.

"I'm... well... I mean to say..."

"What?" Dan couldn't remember the last time he had the upper hand in an argument.

"I wasn't trying to offend..."

"Yes you were."

"I was just trying to make the point that the morals of her work..."

"Shut up. You have a problem with her, talk to her."

"Well, hopefully, we'll have her on the show..."

"Fuck off! You don't have the balls to ask her any of this. She'd rip you new asshole and Nathan Barley would film it and make a fortune. Cunt."

Dan stood up and pulled off his microphone. Michael was still talking but Dan wasn't listening. He'd done his interview, and Sasha had a bottle of whiskey waiting for him off stage.

xxx

It wasn't easy to be a powerful woman in a male dominated world. Mars had been one of the top editors in the business for years and yet there will still people who would dismiss her for being feminine and having a bouffant of lavender hair. It was the same in her sixties as it had been in her twenties. Times changed, but people stayed the same.

"How the fuck do you have the balls to attack my talent on your piss ant show?" Mars screamed into the phone, "Dan Ashcroft is the voice of his generation and you use him to try and stir up some over-played, bullshit controversy. What kind of fucktards are running your station? I'm serious, I want the names of these fucktards because I want some goddamn answers!"

In reality, Dan had come across well in the interview. She'd had Sasha video the whole thing on the sly. If it had gone badly, she would have threatened to sue if they aired the interview. It was a man's world and men don't respond to reason. They respond to threats to their balls.

"I will come down there and rip the balls off any little shit who tries to fuck with my boy, Ashcroft. We want approval on the final cut, an on-air apology and I want to see Claire Ashcroft on your show, dick punching Michael Bowler-Smith by the end of this month... No, she's not going to literally punch him in the dick, you fucking moron... unless your boy starts pulling the same shit he pulled with Dan."

Mars could see Dan lounging at his desk, drunk as a skunk. He'd be useless for the rest of the day, but Sasha was there to keep him from speaking to anyone. Sasha was godsend. Mars had assumed Dan was just bringing her along as a convenient source of ass. Mars knew what it was like to be a busy, creative type. One of the reasons she'd hired a young Dan Ashcroft was because he had been young and fit and weak-willed. They hadn't so much had an affair as the occasional lunch time shag. If he didn't talk, if he just looked troubled and underappreciated, he was a good lay. He was a little long in the tooth for her tastes now, men over thirty just took too long to come, but he was still nice to have around. In addition to being a decent writer, he was a throwback to a simpler time. He was the sexually confused, misanthropic, alcoholic writer that was born to write a great novel. He hadn't written it yet, but Mars couldn't look at him and _not _think of his potential for literary greatness.

Mars watched Sasha approach Dan. He immediately sat straighter in his seat, like a schoolboy trying to hide he'd been looking at a girlie mag under his desk. Mars had always been able to keep her people in line, but she liked the way Sasha seemed to be able to keep people in line without yelling. Mars liked to yell, but there were times it was a strain on her throat. It was also a bitch when she was hung over.

xxx

Nathan Barley had invested his money wisely. When a big company came along and bought .ck, Nathan took that healthy chunk of change and made it work for him. He was told he was lucky to be out of the business. The dot com bubble had burst and no one was making money off the internet.

Nathan knew it was a load of shit, but he kept his mouth shut as he bought up every porny version of a popular url he could think of. A lot of them were already taken, no doubt by businessmen of a similar acumen, but he was able to procure assorted names like fuckbook, twatter, pussyjournal, amazonsluts, gaggle, dickipedia and boobtube. Nathan Barley did not deal in porn, he simply had an eye for it, but he made a fortune selling the urls to actual porn purveyors.

Nathan Barley wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he understood the ways of the world. People liked sex, violence and feeling superior to other people. If you could capitalize on those basic baser desires (what Nathan called the baseric desires), there was always money to be made. Internet trends would change, but until there was a faster way to deliver porn to someone's eyeballs, there would always be money to be made in the world wide web of snatch.

Breakthrough was a gift for Claire. She was always wanking about how there was no money for crunchy granola types to make their 'serious' art. When he'd suggested a fundraising website for surely artsy types, Claire nearly wet her knickers. People like Claire, Dan and Jones wanted to be artistic without selling out. Or getting proper jobs. They got by on their looks as much as their talent, but refused to admit it. At least Jones was an honest-to-god street kid. Nathan heard stories about how pre-Ashcroft Jones used to lead the scene, back when he needed to hustle to survive. Jones had apparently been at all the parties until a young Dan Ashcroft convinced him to try and night in. It was Dan that taught Jones he didn't have to try to be loved. He didn't have to do anything but be the right ratio of talented to attractive to draw people in instead of inspiring their anger. Then Claire arrived and taught them both they didn't need to accomplish anything to be smug or to look down on others. Claire occasionally played up the Northern, working class background and mocked Nathan for being posh, but it was an absurd act. Nathan knew he could rely on his folks to help him out of a jam, but the Ashcrofts lived like people who had zero fear of being homeless. Whatever issues they had with their folks, Dan and Claire never had the drive to work for their survival. Nathan's dad would send him the occasional cheque, but there was no going home for Nathan.

But Claire was sexy and beautiful, so Nathan designed (with a bit of help from Pingu) a website intended to help self-indulgent artists get handouts. He'd already been offered several hundred pounds for the site, but he wasn't ready to hand over ownership of his baby with Claire.

Not when he was certain he could get a million.

xxx

"Hi, Dan."

Dan would never be comfortable with how much his name sounded like dad. It wasn't a problem with anyone else. There was (hopefully) only one person on the planet who might call him Dad, and he hoped she never would. Although he cared about Lenore, even loved her, she was still more like a friend than family. His teenaged tryst with the brilliant author, Marilyn Author, had produced a fine young woman with her mother's determination and her father's tiny, shifty eyes. He'd know Lenore for less than three years. For a while, Lenore had lived in London while going to Cambridge. They'd formed something of a relationship and maintained it through regularly scheduled, transatlantic video chats. Left to his own devices, Dan would surely have let the relationship wither and die. Not because he didn't care about Lenore or want her in his life, but because he was Dan Ashcroft. He did not nurture: not his offspring, not his plants and not his relationships. Like Jones, Lenore took the reigns and forced Dan to do what made him happy.

Every Thursday, Dan considered avoiding their video chat. He could never shake the feeling that he just hadn't done enough that week. It didn't help that Lenore was a relentless overachiever and always had something new to report.

Every Thursday, Dan went through with the conversation because he liked Lenore and she made him laugh. Also, because he would be old someday and he would need her to care for him (or at least write the checks for his care).

Lenore was a stoic by nature. She was given to the occasional dramatic collapse, but most of the time she was focused and thoughtful. Today, her face was composed, but her eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

"Hello, Lenore."

Dan sensed that any question he asked would likely lead to Lenore weeping, so he stayed silent.

"How was the interview?" Lenore asked, her voice cracking even as her face remained nearly expressionless.

"I told him to fuck off and walked out."

Lenore smiled, "That sounds pretty... bad ass. Good for you, Dan."

Despite being seventeen years younger than him, Dan almost looked up to Lenore. She was mature, centered and ambitious in a way he'd never been. He'd always been a bit lost in his life, and Lenore shared his awkwardness and neuroticism, but she had an internal compass. Like Claire and Sasha, Lenore always had a destination. Not a rubbish Nathan Barley type destination, but a proper one.

"So..." Dan prompted.

"I'm pregnant," Lenore announced before bursting into tears, "I don't know what to do! I'm still in school, I have a business to run, the father lives in another goddamn country! What am I going to do?"

Dan watched her cry, feeling grateful for the distance between them. If they were in the same room, he'd have to offer some manner of physical comfort - a hug perhaps. As fond as Dan Ashcroft was of his daughter, he wasn't really a hugger. Physical contact that didn't end in sex just seemed weird.

Unfortunately, Dan wasn't any better at verbal consolation.

"Oh, so... Ned?"

While he was a complete idiot, Ned Smanks was strangely enough the man Lenore seemed to have chosen as a romantic partner. Dan credited the stability of their relationship to the fact Ned was in another country and they rarely saw each other. Dan respected Ned's talent as an artist, and appreciated that Ned seemed quite infatuated with Lenore. One of the benefits of having Ned working at the same magazine, was that Dan could keeps tabs on him. Initially, he'd been looking for Ned to so much as look at another woman so he could avoid having a grandchild that was half idiot. The process of watching Ned like a hawk actually led to Dan respecting Ned's devotion. He told any woman who approached that he was dating an "American business woman" who was "well smart" and a "VIP of the highest order".

"Of course, it's Ned's!" Lenore snapped, "He's the only person I don't use... Of course, it's Ned!"

Dan was a little reassured that at Lenore was at least sleeping with other guys. It was important for a young woman to experiment with men who weren't dumb as a rock.

"Don't say anything, I want to tell him in person," Lenore continued, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"So you'll be coming here?"

Lenore sniffed, "Yeah. I'm going to stay with Claire, don't worry."

Dan was grateful he wouldn't have to play host, felt a tad guilty about not wanting to house his own daughter, and utterly miffed that Claire hadn't bothered to tell him his only child was coming for a visit.

"Does Claire know?" It was a silly question. Claire knew everything. She probably knew before Lenore.

Lenore nodded, "Yeah. She's been great, you know, talking to me about... options."

"Options?" Dan repeated before his brain kicked into gear. He never thought well under pressure. "Oh, options."

Lenore grimaced and looked away.

"But... there are options," Dan continued, "I mean, you're only..."

Lenore glared, "Really? You still don't know how old I am? You know when you had sex with my mom, do the math!"

He'd only recently turned sixteen when he met the brilliant Marilyn Author and spent the summer learning how to be an honest writer (and how to perform cunnilingus).

"Nearly 24," Lenore supplied with an exasperated sigh, "I know I have options, but... there are just things I would change about the situation. It's not that I don't want the..."

"Baby?"

"That," Lenore agreed.

"You'll make a good mum," Dan said sincerely. Lenore was a born mother. She was organized, energetic and almost always sober.

"Do you really think so?" Lenore asked in a small voice, before she began to sob. Dan actually felt sorry he couldn't reach out to comfort her. He might have been rubbish at it, but it would have been better than seeing someone look so very alone.


	3. Breakthrough

Lenore was not the only student in her Harvard MBA program who was preparing to inherit a business and just needed to learn how not to run it into the ground. There were plenty of trustfund kids with their lives set up before them. Kids who always had been and always would be rich and strangely powerful, regardless of their talents or efforts.

She was the only one who was actually a CEO of an international corporation. She was an absolute figure head at Lenore Publishing, but with the company, she'd inherited a top notch team of business advisors. The real head of the company was a woman named Erica. Lenore's mother had given her a very important piece of business advice before her passing.

"Hire people with character and pay them what they're worth."

Erica made a shit load of money. Lenore had always been drawn to psychology, and this was one aspect of business she sometimes understood better than her professors. Angry people fuck you over. Lenore kept her people happy, and in return, she was featured in magazines (ones that she didn't own) for being such a tremendous success. A woman under twenty-five making billions (who did not have a sex tape) was a special thing in the naughties.

She could take a year off from school and stay in London until she had the baby, and then...

Lenore burst into tears. No matter which way she looked at it, she was completely out of her league. If her mother was alive, it would be different. She'd have someone to tell her how to be a mom and a success and if she looked good with auburn highlights.

She hadn't known she was pregnant when she had her hair done. She hoped it looked good since she had no idea what effect the fumes had on her unborn child. If her baby was going to have a third eye, she wouldn't want it to be over a _bad_ dye job.

Lenore dried her eyes and picked up her cell phone. She sent a picture of her straightened hair to Elizabeth. She and Elizabeth had been roommates during Lenore's year in London. They had stayed close after Lenore returned to the states, but she missed their former intimacy. It was Elizabeth who helped her through the trauma of meeting her father for the first time.

Her phone beeped, Elizabeth had written back.

"OMG! Your highlights look amazing!"

Lenore smiled, immediately feeling pretty. If Elizabeth hated her hair, she would have written, "OMG! You got highlights!"

Lenore sent Elizabeth another text, "I think I'm moving to England."

xxx

Nathan still thought about it every time he saw Dan. It wasn't his first or last blow job, but it was the only one he didn't really regret. There had been childish experiments and there had been career advancing debasements, but when Nathan sucked off Dan Ashcroft, it had really just been for the sake of sucking off Dan Ashcroft. Nathan was almost entirely heterosexual, but Dan was more than a gender. Dan Ashcroft was a transcendent way of life, the epitome of self-destructive cool.

Sometimes Nathan drank hazelnut flavored coffee and the after taste would remind him vaguely of the taste of Dan's come. At the time, he hadn't thought Dan's jizz tasted like hazelnuts, it had tasted like jizz (i.e. fucking gross). It was just a vague resemblance that was enough to put him back in the moment, with Dan hammered, high and vulnerable and turning to Nathan for comfort.

When he'd accidentally mentioned the blowie in front of Claire (and Doug Rocket and all kinds of important people), she'd gone ballistic. At that point, they hadn't really had sex. She had let Nathan go down on her a couple times after a long night of working on their film (and a few celebratory drinks), but wouldn't reciprocate or let him do anything other than feel her tits a bit as he ate her out. He'd been laying the groundwork, knowing every girl liked a guy who knew how to go downtown, and she'd been softening.

After finding out he'd taken a detour to her brother's downtown area, Claire had all but posted a 'no trespassing' sign on her body. Even a cheeky feel of her bum would send her into a rage, inspiring her to suggest Nathan do all kinds of gross and unhygienic things with her brother.

It took months before she allowed a shoulder massage, that became a back massage, that became a front massage. Even as he was massaging and sucking on her tits, and she was moaning, the second he tried to jerk himself off, she was ready to bite his head off. She called him a selfish prick and a pervert. It seemed a bit unfair since he'd gotten her off several times without so much as a tug job in return.

But that was how it went with Claire. She always had to be in charge and have the upper hand. Even when she was using Nathan's money, space, equipment and connections, she still had to be the boss.

"Are you even listening to me?" Claire snapped.

"Course I am, Sugar Muff," Nathan lied.

She rewound the interview, and watched it once again. They both cheered when Dan told Michael Ball-licker-Smith to fuck off.

xxx

Breakthrough was a website for independent artists to get funding for their projects. The artist offered a description of what he/she/they intended to do and how much money would be needed to accomplish that goal, and offer incentives to encourage donations. The site took a percentage in order to run without relying on advertisers, but it was not a profit maker. It was Claire's attempt to give back to the artistic community and Nathan Barley's attempt to be slightly less gross. Naturally, there was controversy because everything involving money had to involve controversy. People argued over who had the right to solicit money intended for start-up projects, and complained that the site was used by people who were already 'successful'. Claire dismissed the arguments as sour grapes since it was up to the artist to find donors, and as Claire well knew, having had some previous success did not guarantee future success.

It was beyond strange to have Dan sitting in front of her with a pen and pad. He'd reviewed her film "Down in Londontown", but there hadn't been any questions involved. He'd simply watched the film and wrote a self-indulgent essay regarding his brotherly feelings and general misanthropy.

Today, Dan was interviewing Claire for E-lite magazine. She and Dan were finally equals.

Except Dan still had all the fucking power.

"So, Preach, what's your op on the new King of the Idiots at SugaRape?" Nathan asked. "Is he the new you or just another dickhead?"

Claire could see Dan battling between his curiosity and utter disgust. Curiosity seemed to win out. Nathan was appropriately pleased.

"What are you talking about?" Dan asked, looking more paranoid than usual.

"Kevin Alexander! Where you been? Up the arsehole of some DJ?" Nathan waited for a laugh from Dan that never came. Occasionally, Nathan would make a joke so lame and desperate that Dan would laugh and that was enough to feed into Nathan's delusion that they were friends. Claire felt comfortable laying most of Dan's problems squarely at his pampered feet, but Nathan really wasn't Dan's fault. Nathan was a child and simply couldn't understand that there were people he could never win over. Dan never gave Nathan any reason to think they could ever be friends. Sure, he'd let Nathan suck his cock but... Claire couldn't count that as a friendly overture. Plenty of men had made the same offer to Claire and she'd never taken it as a sign of a burgeoning friendship. Men were pigs and Dan was a man as much as Nathan.

"Kevin Alexander is the new head prick at SugaRape," Nathan continued after everyone was thoroughly uncomfortable. "He writes shite articles about shit that is pure 2003. Well derivative."

Claire bit her lip and refused to laugh. Nathan was never funny when he tried, but his naive attempts to sound clever and posh attempts to be street were always hilarious.

"He's been talking shit about you, Preach," Nathan continued, basking in all the Ashcroft attention. "It hasn't made print yet, but everyone knows Jonatton is grooming him to be the new Dan Ashcroft. As if."

Dan pulled a face and shot a concerned look at Claire. For all his failings, Claire loved that Dan still felt sorry for a world that would have a_ second_ Dan Ashcroft.

"Great, some asshole is trying to climb his way to the top by climbing over Dan. Why try to have talent when you can just leech off of someone else's?" Claire sneered. Now that she'd had some success, she had her own Kevin Alexanders to deal with. "Everyone is looking for a shortcut. No one wants to put the work in."

"Amen... No. A-_people_ to that. People like us paid our dues," Nathan heartily agreed. He then tried to get a fist bump from Dan. He was unsuccessful.

Dan turned on his recorder and shoved it in Nathan's face.

"Give me some of your quotable idiocy. Claire and I are going to talk," Dan growled. "So... go."

Claire felt sorry for Nathan as he skulked out of the room. He'd done most of the work, but Dan would just make him sound like a useless idiot. Just because Nathan was a useless idiot didn't mean he didn't deserve his share of the credit for their project.

Nathan would give Dan absurd quotes, and would set himself up to be mocked. Then he'd force a laugh and pretend to be in on the joke. Claire had watched the same scene play out a dozen times over the past few years. Dan and Nathan were insufferably stubborn and unwilling to break the routine that tied them to one another.

"Don't be too hard on Nathan in the article," Claire said as soon as Nathan was out of listening distance. "He's put a lot of work in and he hasn't taken an offer to sell it off."

"Is it true he turned down 400,000 pounds?" Dan asked, his brow furrowed. "Is he waiting for a better offer? He's mental if he thinks he'll get a better offer."

Claire was stunned. Nathan had never mentioned a number. Nathan owned 60% of Breakthrough and therefore had the controlling interest. He could have forced Claire's hand if he really wanted to sell. She had never imagined Nathan was turning down such large sums.

"Forget I mentioned it," Dan sighed. "It's probably B.S. anyway. If Nathan is turning down the big paycheck, it's not because he has a soul. It's because he's looking for more money."

"You don't know Nathan as well as you think, Dan," Claire snapped, still reeling from the information he had offered. Maybe she didn't know Nathan any better than Dan.

"Jesus Christ," Dan groaned. "You're going to end up having his slimy little babies, aren't you? I'm going to be surrounded by baby idiots."

Claire took the chance to change the subject from her non-relationship with Nathan Barley.

"How are you coping with impending grandfatherhood?" she asked, sincere in her concern. Dan had been prickly enough about his upcoming fortieth birthday without adding the twist of becoming a youngish granddad. Although it wasn't something he was likely to discuss, Claire knew Dan was always keenly aware of his age and what it meant in terms of his Danness. Thirty had been a disaster.

Dan and Claire had been blessed with their father's cheekbones and their mother's soulful dark eyes and rich vocal timbre. Good genes meant it was hard to pin an age to the Ashcroft siblings, and yet they always seemed wise beyond their years. While Claire tried to use her gifts for good, like using the authority in her voice to get people to listen to her when she was the only one talking sense, Dan just stumbled through life with no thought for others. Through his early twenties, he was respected and admired. As he approached thirty, Dan realized what most relatively bright people figure out as they approach thirty. Dan Ashcroft realized he knew almost nothing about anything, and that those people who thought he had something to say were utter fools. He started his thirtieth year looking clean-cut, a bit gangly and bookish, but looking like a man of the world. By thirty-two, he looked like an actual tramp. Passersby would hand him money. Dan had been using drugs and alcohol to deal with his natural shyness and social anxiety since he was fourteen, but he now he needed several crutches to get through his daily life. Even as they spoke, Dan nervously puffed on his electric cigarette like he was interviewing the queen rather than his baby sister. Hard-drinking and chain-smoking gave his fresh-face the lines he seemed to need to feel like a proper adult.

Dan had been climbing back from the shambles of his mid-thirties, but his coping mechanisms had become addictions. He no longer seemed bulletproof.

Dan shrugged.

"Doesn't really have anything to do with me," he said with forced indifference. "I doubt she'll be bringing the baby around for words of wisdom from her old man."

"Granddad Ashcroft didn't have any words of wisdom," Claire reminded him. "Remember how we loved visiting him? He used to give me money to clean his pipe and shine his shoes. He used us as personal valets and we loved him for it."

"I swiped my first fag off of him," Dan reminisced. "Visiting him is where I learned to drink liquor straight and how to make the bottle look untouched."

"And how to talk your way out of a beating when he took a drink of apple juice flavored whiskey..."

Dan let out one of his rare giggles. It wasn't a chuckle or guffaw. It was a childish, gleeful giggle and it made Claire laugh until her eyes were watering. She fought her instinct to say something about how nice it was to see Dan happy, knowing it would ruin the moment. She just tried to enjoy the cheerful comradery with her brother/hero/rival.

"What's so funny, sugar tits?" Nathan asked, returning to the room and dumping a metaphorical bucket of ice water on the moment. "Are you watching that video of the baby panda sneezing?"


End file.
